Ten Steps to a Happier You
by hiding duh
Summary: Puck, Rachel, Kurt, Finn. It's just that easy!


**Title**: Ten Steps to a Happier You  
**Fandom**: Glee  
**Characters/Pairings**: ensemble, vague Puck/Rachel, minor Kurt/Finn  
**Summary**: It's just that easy!  
**Rating**: PG-13  
**Spoilers**: Through 1x11  
**Word Count**: 1900  
**Notes**: Hi, I marathoned the first eleven episodes in one weekend, so any and all corrections are more than appreciated.

* * *

_01  
share a piece of yourself with someone you love_

"Ugh, if someone saw me doing this..." Quinn mumbles, surreptitiously scanning the hallway for loiterers.

A sharp tug tightens her belly.

"I hate this song," she complains quietly, leaning against her locker, "but whatever." She inhales, exhales, rubs a small circle down her belly, and sings, "_I'll be seeing you... in all the old familiar places... that this heart of mine embraces—_"

There's a kick.

"I know, I know," she says with a pleased grin. "I missed a note."

The kid kicks again.

"Fine. Four notes."

Her stomach lurches.

"Hey," she threatens. "I'll name you Drizzle."

The kicking stops.

_02  
accept that he's never going to move with you to Montana to raise alpacas_

Kurt knows a lost cause when he sees one.

Please, he's championed lost causes since kindergarten.

But maybe he can do this. His competition, after all, consists of that hormonal cheerio mess, occasionally the last of the Neanderthal Mohicans, and an entitled bag of diva neuroses—

"Young ingénue," Rachel corrects as though she can read his mind.

He turns to her, leans on his palm, and sighs. "Four stars."

She follows his line of vision—across the cafeteria, to Finn's muscled calves. "Four and a half."

Kurt offers her a blasé look. "I'm deducting half a star for wearing white after Labor Day."

Oblivious, Finn turns around, cracks a lopsided grin, and waves his tray at them.

Rachel lowers her music sheet and scoots closer, coaxing, "But he has very pretty eyes. And lips. And hair."

Kurt's eyes briefly meet Finn's.

"Yeah," he agrees, then shakes it off, "...but he's still wearing white. Cardinal rule. Try to keep up, Poisonberry."

_03  
reconnect with an old friend_

Finn gets everything.

The girl, the baby, the other girl, the lead in the club, the lead on the team. Puck thinks it's only fair he get punched in the face, too.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Finn howls, sprawling across the grass and slamming into a training dummy.

"You," Puck grumbles, rubbing the ache out of his knuckles. "That wasn't a pass, man!" he accuses. "A one-armed midget with Down's could do a better j—"

Finn frowns.

Tensing, Puck grits his teeth. "Look, I'm sick of doing everything right and still not being liked by anyone, okay."

Finn gives him a confused blink.

Puck focuses on the grass stains below Finn's kneepads. "Shit. Glee turned me into a girl."

After a beat, Finn shrugs. "..._I_ like you."

Puck pauses. "Dude," he groans, mortified. "That's really—"

Finn wipes the blood off his mouth. "—gay?"

"Majorly," Puck nods, then offers Finn a hand up.

Finn accepts, jumps to his feet, and pats down his uniform. "Seriously," he mumbles under his breath, tucking his helmet under his arm, "we gotta stop hanging out with Kurt."

Puck silently agrees.

_04  
learn something new every day_

"What's this?"

Emma glances away demurely. "I saw it in Hawaii," she tells Will, "thought of you."

Will's fingers brush across the leather-bound dictionary.

"For when you're teaching your daughter Spanish," Emma adds, daintily slicing into a carrot. "It's old, so I disinfected it four times."

Will grins.

When he gets home, he gives the dictionary to Terri.

"...thank you?" she says, holding up one corner between her thumb and forefinger. The pages plop to the floor, leaving the leather cover in Terri's hand. "Oh, I'm so sorry, Will, I gutted it, I didn't mean—"

Will tosses his jacket at the coat hanger. "No, no, it came that way. Steam loosens the binding."

"Oh," Terri says. Awkwardly, she bends to collect the pages, complaining, "Who'd think to steam a dictionary anyway? I mean, really."

Will crouches down by her, sweeping a stack of pages away from her shoes.

"Why'd you even bring it home?" she asks briskly.

Will pats her knee, bringing his face to hers.

"It made me think of you."

_05  
save a soul a day_

"Noah," she says.

Disinterested, he looks up from his food, offering her a muffled, "What?"

Rachel makes a face. "It's Friday night."

He narrows his eyes, contemplating briefly, then shovels the food into his mouth. "Don't remind me." His eyes unfocus. "Can't believe I'm spending it with you," he eulogizes. "_Not_ making out."

She taps her pencil to her notebook, staring at him. "Noah..." she starts uncomfortably, trying to divert his attention to the food.

"Want some, Berry?" he asks absentmindedly, leafing through her homework.

She watches him practically unhinge his jaw to inhale a bucketful of pork-fried rice.

"Yes," she says slowly, "we'll have to work on this."

_06  
fight for what's yours_

"No, it's not _right_!"

Tina flinches, clasping Mercedes' shoulder. "Calm down."

"Don't tell me to calm down," Mercedes snaps, smacking the proposed program on the piano bench. "No one can sing this song better than I can."

"Well," Kurt purses his lips, inspecting his nails. "Except me." He looks up. "But you have my support, obviously."

Frowning, Mercedes advances on Mr. Schuester. "I want this one. I _deserve_ it."

Mr. Schuester pauses. Then, slowly, he tilts his head. "You're right." He digs his fingers into his knees, then jumps to his feet, radiating energy. "Okay, change of plans! Mercedes on one, Tina on two, Rachel on three!"

Tina blinks. "What."

Mercedes elbows her.

"I mean," Tina amends quickly, "y-yeah!"

_07  
admit she's not totally lame and you only hate her a little_

"I can't do this."

Rachel hops off the podium to face Quinn, and starts babbling, "You can do it, Quinn, it's just basic choreography—"

Annoyed, Quinn levels her eyes with Rachel's. "Fine. I can do it. As long as you don't mind me going into labor on stage."

Rachel glances down for a moment, then quickly brings her gaze back to Quinn's face. "One minute, guys!" she calls out to the rest of the club, then draws Quinn aside, whispering conspiratorially, "I'm sorry, Quinn. I wasn't thinking."

"Yeah," Quinn agrees primly, "you never do."

Rachel bites her bottom lip, dragging her teeth over it, then perks up. "Hold on, I think we still have a spare wheelchair," she muses, starting for the exit.

"...what is _wrong_ with you?" Quinn sighs, wraps both hands around Rachel's arm, and yanks her back. "Freak."

Rachel deflates. "I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing," Quinn growls, exasperated. "Stop being nice to me. I'd never be nice to you if the—"

"—situations were reversed," Rachel says. "I know. You tell me this every day."

Quinn falters.

"Fine," she says finally, heading for the podium. "I can do this. It's _your_ choreography. A coma patient could do it."

Rachel hurries to catch up to her. "But what if you go into labor on—"

"No big," Quinn grins. "At least I'll have something to strangle you with."

"...umbilical cord?"

"Umbilical cord."

_08  
reevaluate yourself often_

Mr. Schue is making them mash up _Walk Away_ with _Kidding Ourselves_ and it's sort of like dipping peanut butter into chocolate—ugh, the calories—kinda gross and sort of weird, but it seems to be totally working for Quinn.

And Finn. And, like, Rachel. And Puck. And Mr. Schue. And, like, okay, the whole club, minus Artie and the Asians. Maybe even Artie and the Asians.

Brittany doesn't really care who's crushing on who—whom—who—whatever. The things Santana tells her after practice... and before practice... and when there is no practice... are confusing.

But even Brittany likes love and peace, because that's what rainbows are made of, so one day, she says this to Ms. Sylvester: "I want to stay in glee."

"...unsatisfactory," Ms. Sylvester replies, leaning back into her chair, fingers steepled.

Brittany nods because agreeing is mandatory in Ms. Sylvester's office, but she gets up from her chair, tugs her ponytail loose, and says, "I have practice. See ya, Ms. Sylvester!"

And hey, look at that.

The mash-up is totally working for Brittany, too.

_09  
stand for something (or fall for anything)_

Puck should be used to this by now.

But he still gets all _what the fucking fuck_ when they round a corner and end up wearing slushies.

"Come on, you guys!" Rachel calls out shakily, picking some of the ice off her chest. "We're in a recession!"

Puck bites back a grin.

"Grape?" he asks, squinting through the slush.

She wipes at her eyes. "Strawberry." She reaches up, brushing her sleeve over his cheek. "What if I were allergic to strawberries?" she rants, scrubbing away at his face. Her shoes lose traction and she slides into him a little. "What if _you_ were allergic? If this got out, I'm positive the LGBT coalition would sue them faster than those idiots could fail an algebra exam—"

Puck's pretty sure he's not allergic to anything.

So he bends a little and licks the corner of her lips.

Just to test the theory, of course.

_10  
dare to fail (and prepare to succeed)_

Oh, god, okay.

Kurt would sooner wear last year's Prada than do this, but here he is, sort of praying. Yes. Love makes him _that_ stupid. He's not going to apologize.

But he _is_ going to puke all over the piano.

"—Mercedes and the other Asian," Mr. Schue announces, straddling one of the chairs and consulting the hat.

"Again, that's not my name—"

"—and... Finn and Kurt," he finishes, brow furrowing. "The fates have spoken." He hesitates for a moment, eyes briefly locking with Rachel's. "Yeah, okay, I need to come up with a better way to pair you guys up."

Kurt resists the urge to stomp his feet in glee.

Mercedes secretly low-fives him, then notes, "What you _need_ to do is come up with a better playlist, Mr. S." She raises one eyebrow, and pouts, "We almost lost the sectionals because of you."

"Yes, Mr. Schue, I thought we agreed on something more contemporary," Rachel adds eagerly, crossing the room and clutching notes to her chest, "especially since this is the nationals, and we need solid, possibly polemic, songs—"

"I like you so much better when you're naked," Puck suggests.

The class collectively turns to stare at him.

"It's a song," he defends, plucking at his guitar. "Look it up."

"It's a travesty," Rachel lectures, turning to Mr. Schue. "And besides, we're doing duets and that's not—"

Sleepy, Finn sidles up to Kurt, and effectively drowns out the noise. "Alright, Kurt, what do you wanna sing?"

Kurt contemplates flipping the piano lid open and throwing up. Instead, he says, eyes bright and voice light, "Maybe we can cover _Little Victories_? You know. 'Cause it could be appropriate if and when we win?"

Finn seems to ponder for a moment, then nods, mouth stretching into a friendly smile. "Sure." He straightens, brows knitting together. "Wait, is that a duet?"

Kurt's lips twitch.

"It could be."


End file.
